


A Fine Golden Chain; It's Strength Yet Untested

by NestPlaster



Category: Ultima
Genre: Anal Plug, BDSM, Bondage, Chains, Flogging, Friendship/Love, Kneeling, Leather, M/M, Nipple Clamps, St. Andrew's Cross
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 07:04:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5958160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NestPlaster/pseuds/NestPlaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly after the rise of The Avatar, Lord British and his close friend Lord Blackthorn share a moment in the deeper stonework of Castle Britannia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fine Golden Chain; It's Strength Yet Untested

In his stone cell, Lord British hung in chains.

The cell was dimly lit, with only faint echoes of flickering torchlight sneaking in through the cracks around the solid wooden door. British hung low, his frame supported as much by the heavy steel shackles about his wrists and ankles as his slowly tiring body. Briefly he raised himself, taut muscles standing out under his skin, and stretched his aching joints. A sense of relief settled through him as he relaxed again, although he knew from long experience it would be short lived so long as he held this position.

Time passed, enough that he was not sure how much, before the irregular footsteps of the guards on patrol were punctuated with another set he knew -- crisp and measured, a pace confident and unhurried, thick leather soles firmly striking down on the stone floor of the dungeon. They drew close, and Lord British breathed deeply as a heavy iron key rasped into the lock. Tumblers turned and clicked and finally the heavy door opened, surprisingly silent on well oiled hinges. Light flooded past the figure framed in the stone arch of the doorway, and Lord British blinked hard against eyes watering in the sudden change before he could focus.

Lord Blackthorn strode confidently into the cell with torch in hand, crossing the floor with the same measured stride that had brought him to the door, stopping so close Lord British could smell his breath, see the individual hairs on the immaculate goatee framing his slightly parted lips. Blackthorn reached up with his free hand, clad in black leather of the finest quality, and cradled British's jaw gently. British rested his chin, pressing lightly into the leather, and felt his response to this touch echoed down below as he stirred for the first time in excitement for what was to follow. "My Lord" British spoke, his voice barely a whisper, "you have returned."

"This time" quipped Blackthorn with a gentle smile, dropping his hand and taking a step back to admire his captive. Even stripped of his clothing and the trappings of state British had a regal quality about him. Blackthorn quickly lit the rest of the torches in the cell, flickering light quickly growing in strength until it was difficult to believe the cell had been clad in shadow only moments ago. Satisfied that the stage was set, he returned to his captive.

Blackthorns fingers worked with a nimbleness surprising for gloved hands, and in moments the shackles fell open, falling against the stone of the cell with a startling clatter as they reached the limits of their chains. Lord British stood exposed with his legs still spread, and he could feel his pulse in his cock as it grew firm. Instinctively British clasped his hands together behind the small of his back, arching slightly to present his body fully. He was eager for any touch after his time alone in the dark, yet knew to wait.

Lord Blackthorn stepped back a full pace and stood upright. His arm extended, the pointing finger a clear extension of his will, and pointed at the ground. "Kneel", he commanded, and without a moments hesitation British brought himself to his knees. "Greet me" Blackthorn continued, and British leaned forward and pressed his torso to the cold stone, back arched, to kiss the tips of Blackthorns boots. The polished black leather felt like it still carried the warmth of the castle when compared to the stone of the floor, and British planted his lips on them fully and deliberately, moving from boot to boot until Blackthorn ordered him to halt with a single word. British stayed low to the ground, his breath visible on the black leather tantalizing close to his face, until Blackthorn ordered him to kneel upright once more.

Blackthorn allowed a smile to grace his lips as he looked down at his lover. He could watch the muscles slowly relax in British as he settled into a kneeling posture, arms clasped again behind his back, comfortable in his role despite his obvious excitement. Blackthorn let his gloved hands dance briefly along the leather pouch hanging as his belt and took a moment to enjoy the knowledge that this was his decision, where to go next, before undoing the draw string to reveal his latest purchase. The delicate gold chain shone brilliantly as if it were illuminated by direct sunlight rather than the flickering torches, it's workmanship outdone by the perfectly cruel clamps hanging at the end. He reached out towards British, dangling the chain, and paused for a moment before indicating with the briefest of nods that British should take it.

Lord British could feel a surge in his cock as soon as he saw the fine golden chain and the elegant clips. His title led to all sorts of gifts and taxes, but they could not hold a candle to a fine piece of artistry commissioned by his lover for this purpose. When Blackthorn inclined his head British knew from his eyes what to do and reached out for the clamps, finding them surprisingly light in his hands. The mechanism quickly revealed itself and British exhaled sharply as he applied the first to a hard needy nipple. The metal bit down with a strength that defied it's size and British paused before tackling the second. After a moment he drew in a long full breath and held it before releasing the clamp onto his second nipple, exhaling sharply with the pain, and moved his hands back behind his back. The pain slowly grew more manageable, and he looked up through a wayward lock of golden blonde hair to meet Blackthorns proud eyes.

Blackthorn looked down at British. The golden chain hung loose against his broad chest, and swung slightly as his breathing increased marginally in tempo. Blackthorn circled British with slow deliberate strides, letting his boots ring out as they hit the floor of the dungeon, and admiring his lover from all angles. British had tremendous resolve and stamina, but he could see him starting to tire from holding the kneeling position on the unyielding flagstones, muscles moving slightly beneath his tanned skin. Blackthorn let his fingers glide across a shelf as he passed to the side of the cell. Just out of the peripheral view of Lord British he paused, letting silence settle across them both, letting the anticipation grow as he considered his options. When the moment had reached his peak he selected the next torment, dragging it slightly as he lifted it from the rough wood to let British know something was coming. With a slow pace he approached British from behind before dropping into a crouch and revealing what was next with the sound of a clay pot being placed on the ground. He rested one gloved hand on the shoulder of British and with the other pressed the plug into the waiting hands of British, pausing while they both held it, the touch promising more to come. "Fill yourself for me" he whispered, leaning in close enough that he brushed against the golden curtain of British's hair, "slowly." Blackthorn rose to his feet and stepped back to watch the performance.

Lord British reached out behind his back to find the clay pot of grease, and the stretch opened up his chest, renewing the sharp pinch of the nipple clamps he had almost grown accustomed to. Breathing deeply he allowed the pain to flow through him, and brought his hands back to the front. The plug was modest in size and slightly phallic, a ridged head riding proudly above the sleek body before tapering down and ending in a wide flare. The craftsmanship was masterful, possibly by the same craftsman as the clamps, and the metal was polished to a mirror finish, impossibly smooth to the touch. British scooped out a healthy glob of the thick grease in the pot and applied it evenly to the plug before leaning forward and then reaching back to position it at his lower entrance. He heard Blackthorn from across the room remind him in a single word "Slowly" and then, as ordered, pressed the tip firmly until his flesh yielded.

British moved with a slowness that defied the aching need in his body. Ever so gradually he opened to the head of the phallus, flesh gliding smoothly over slicked metal. He could picture every detail through the sensations, despite being unable to see, anticipating and finally feeling himself fall over the ridge at the base of the head. "Wait" came the voice from behind him, and he obeyed, feeling himself stretched slightly against the main body of the plug. "Continue" ordered Blackthorn after a small eternity, "but slowly", and British amazed himself with his own patience as he fell back ever so gradually on the unyielding object. When he finally reached the narrow at the base he felt relief mingled with a great pleasure in the fullness. The internal pressure countered the dull ache in his nipples and he could feel his swollen cock and heavy balls hang below him, eagerly awaiting their turn.

Blackthorn allowed himself the luxury of a smile, free to fully enjoy his subject while safely out of view behind him. And what a performance it had been -- obedience all the more precious for being a constant struggle against raw lust. British was still leaned forward, resting on his forearms, his proper position forgotten as he finally relaxed and accepted the weight of the plug. Blackthorn considered correcting him, picturing his body pulling abruptly into position and the clamps re-asserting themselves with renewed tension, but allowed the moment to stand. "My Lord" he spoke gently as he stepped forward across the room, composing his features to show only hints of the tenderness he really felt. He let the statement hang in the air, a command without orders, and knew without looking that British would have eyes on him, waiting for the slightest indication of his intent. In another long stride he arrived at the wooden cross affixed to the wall and spun sharply on one heel before finishing his statement: "Crawl to me now"

Although the distance was not great the chain hanging from Lord British's nipples was long enough to drag slightly on the ground. This was not an accident and Blackthorn smiled slightly despite himself when it first caught on the rough stonework, pulling sharply back before releasing and causing British to halt awkwardly with a slight cry. Blackthorn allowed a moment before gesturing forward with one hooked finger, and British continued despite another sharp tug as he passed over a second raised piece of flooring. This time he remembered to return to a proper kneeling position when he reached Blackthorn's feet, although he could not conceal a twitch of pain as he drew his shoulders back and again pulled the skin tighter beneath the relentless grip of the sprung metal.

Both knew would would come next, yet British still waited for a raised hand and the motion of a single gloved finger before rising to his feet and moving forward to face the cross. Two timbers were fixed at angle to each other, angled slightly in towards the stone wall and in the form of an X. Lord British leaned forward into the worn wood, knowing from past experiences how far to spread his legs to match the angle of the beams. He also knew to reach up and slip his wrists through the leather throngs, but did not anticipate the sudden pain when his tortured nipples pressed hard against the frame. He gasped and pushed his torso back slightly, pulling the leather straps on his wrists tight and increasing the strain on his calves.

With a quickness born of practice Blackthorn crouched low and wrapped leather straps around both ankles of Lord British, pulling each tight in turn to hold his legs fast to the frame. He rose slowly after the second, tracing a gloved hand up the back of the calf and the inside of the thigh, reaching to near the apex before moving back away from the needy flesh hanging there to clasp one firm buttock. British gasped at the sudden pressure, clenching hard on the plug and feeling his already swollen cock grow impossibly harder for a brief moment. Blackthorn leaned in close and his second hand circled around British's torso to toy with the chain dangling between his nipples, tugging lightly downwards. "You can handle more" he spoke as he pulled harder on the chain, and it was as much an order as a question. British let slip a slight groan and answered "For you", arching back into the decorated leather of Blackthorn's stately tunic.

The collection of whips and floggers was fit for a king, and Blackthorn paused for a moment before reaching for a favourite flogger. He flexed his gloved fingers against the wound leather of the handle and it felt good as he hefted it, a bronze fixture on the base of the handle balancing the long leather strands falling heavily from the other end. He swung with practised grace, the leather standing out straight in space before falling as gently as the flogger allowed across British's broad shoulders. British gasped at the sudden impact and tensed slightly before relaxing back into position, the muscles of his shoulders standing out in sharp relief for a precious instant. Blackthorn knew he could handle much more -- and he would before the day was out -- yet he measured out strikes deliberately and with modest impact. Slowly he worked the skin and watched it grow flushed and reddened, while British breathed slowly and deeper as he managed the slowly growing pain.

Stopping his work as the skin reached a deep pink blush, Blackthorn paused before lowering the flogger and approaching nearer. He reached out and ran a hand from British's shoulder down the curve of his spine. A deeper moan echoed out of British at this touch, his defences finally down as he gave himself fully over to the touch. Smiling again, Blackthorn reached down to free British's ankles, then up to free hands that were too lost in the moment to untangle themselves. British leaned into the wall, weight on his forearms, and Blackthorn reached around his chest from both sides to release the nipple clamps unexpectedly, pain surging through British as they came free. The clamps were tossed gently to the side and Blackthorn spun British around, pulling him into an embrace. "You did well" Blackthorn said.

British relaxed into his arms, returning the embrace with gratitude. His tenderness was genuine, although tempered by the rigid member Blackthorn could feel pressing urgently into his hip. "Not yet" spoke Blackthorn, as he led British back to the chains mounted on the wall and slowly locked his limbs into place once again. "Not yet... but soon." Blackthorn leaned in close and pressed his lips against British's for a long kiss before breaking away. Once more his hands slid down British's body, avoiding the heavy bulk of his erection to reach back and slowly slid out the phallus. British sighed at the loss and tentatively adjusted his limbs, feeling the heaviness of the steel shackles adorning each. "Soon" Blackthorn reminded him, before striding out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him without a backwards glance and locking it once more.

Blackthorn strode down the hallway with confident, measured steps. Lunch, he thought, and then he could take himself and his servant into a final orgasmic release before they both had to return to the bright world of the court and ruling the people. He sighed, resenting the inevitable return to the side of the throne, to the day to day mechanics of lordship. It felt like ruling above was a farce, compared to the ruling done down below.


End file.
